


in the evil's heart

by scoups_ahoy



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Elements of Soulmates, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mental Instability, Power Dynamics, Psychological Trauma, Rough Sex, Smut, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Vampires, but uhhh let's call it "corrupted soulmates" instead, that applies to pretty much everything here but esp the blood drinking, the author apologizes in advance, there is nothing redeeming about this it is all just Bad, to say the Very least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29337813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scoups_ahoy/pseuds/scoups_ahoy
Summary: By the 19th century, Jeonghan has been existing for almost a thousand years.  He is a vampire, a creature of darkness, of malevolence - and Seungcheol is his human servant, bound to serve based on an arrangement formed back when Jeonghan was turned.  And his ancestors have served just as loyally as he does, until Jeonghan grew tired of them and discarded them without a second thought, a fate Seungcheol waits patiently for.  It is his purpose in this life, after all.Except... he's not certain it will ever come.Out of all the human men Jeonghan has had attending him over the centuries, Seungcheol is the only one he has... tangled himself with.  The obsession he holds for him burns as brightly as Seungcheol's loyalty to him, and it keeps Seungcheol at his side - though it is proving to be his very destruction.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	in the evil's heart

**Author's Note:**

> ummmm hi. i'm not really certain where exactly this came from - ji gave me the idea for vampire pwp and it's turned into vampire porn with So Much plot so idk. but, a few warnings before we get started...
> 
> please heed the tags and the following warnings:
> 
> tw: toxic/unhealthy relationships, manipulation/abuse (you might consider it a form of Stockholm syndrome, actually), rough sex with elements of dubcon/demeaning language used without consent, depictions of blood and violence, murder/death, mental health issues, possessive behavior.
> 
> i have tried my best to tag everything i can, without spoiling certain events. this fic is dark and heavy. it depicts a severely unhealthy relationship that i do not condone. it will delve deep into psychological trauma and abuse. proceed with caution, if you have to.
> 
> in this fic, jeonghan is purely a villain. but!! while involving real people, this au is a work of fiction!! which means i view said real people as simply characters, and i do not see these characters as accurate reflections of their irl counterparts. they are here simply to fill a role, to tell a story.
> 
> please enjoy, as much as you can! i love you all! <3

_For what has been done_  
_Cannot be undone_  
_In the evil's heart_  
_In the evil's soul._

* * *

**one.**

Choi Seungcheol’s earliest memory is of lifeless white eyes, without irises, without pupils, and bloodstained lips.

It is still so vivid, even after more than twenty years - perhaps because it was the first rip Jeonghan had torn through his mind, at such a tender age. Or, perhaps it is because he thinks about it every morning. Wakes up in a cold sweat, white and crimson flashing before his eyes, as if it had just happened to him, instead of so long ago.

This morning, of course, is no exception.

In his memories, the estate has not changed a bit. It is still dark and dreary, its shadowy halls lit sporadically by muted bolts of lightning from the storm raging beyond its walls. Candles flicker in some invisible, ghostly breeze, and Seungcheol feels as if he is being  _ watched. _ He blames it on his young age - as does his father - but he cannot shake it. Especially as they walk deeper and deeper into this place. At least in the foyer it was easy to plan an escape, since the door was right there. He could’ve just dropped his father’s hand and ran, found his way back home easy enough. But now the mansion is a labyrinth, with its massive staircases, endless, gloomy corridors, and Seungcheol knows he cannot flee. So he clings tightly to his father’s hand and stays at his side.

It is the only comfort he is allowed here, and even it is ephemeral, as feeble as Seungcheol’s heart is strong. Pounding in his chest, his head, his ears.

Yet it can’t drown out the thundering, pervasive silence around them.

They walk with quick steps and Seungcheol is aware of the fact that his father knows where he’s going. That this is how he fends for his family, where he spends his days and nights - until he’s allowed to return home. He’s not sure what to make of this knowledge, that his father devotes more time here, to whatever master it is that he serves, than to his wife and children. But, as with the sensation of being watched, Seungcheol blames it on his young age. He is too naive to even begin to understand the way adults work. His father’s business is his business, and it keeps a roof over their heads, keeps them fed, so Seungcheol has no right to question it.

But why  _ here? _ What is there, in this godforsaken place, that keeps him away from his family? What is here that Seungcheol will inherit from him, the way their ancestors have for centuries? What master does he serve, with whims so demanding they require his almost constant presence?

A master, Seungcheol knows, he will serve one day, too. Even if he doesn't understand  _ why. _

In his memories, they enter a room. A bedroom. For a brief, blissful moment, Seungcheol is distracted by the beautiful decor it holds. It is the calmest he has been since entering this mansion, childlike fear taken over by childlike awe - but then his father chokes on nothing and not even these exquisite sculptures and paintings can hold his focus.

He sees the corpse first, as white as snow as it lays on the bed. His grown mind realizes that the man is indeed dead - nothing living  _ looks _ like that - but as a child, he remembers thinking that he was sleeping. Wearing red. Being kissed awake by the man leaning above him.

It took far too long for Seungcheol’s young brain to register reality. But now, in his sleep, in his memories, he knows.

Knows that the man is dead. Knows that the crimson dressing his body is his own blood, some of it dried and darker than the rest. Knows that the man kissing his neck is feeding from him. Taking that which sustains him and stealing it for his own, as if he has any right to, when his own heart stopped beating centuries ago.

He knows that that man - that thief, that murderer - is Yoon Jeonghan.

As a child Yoon Jeonghan was nothing but a monster to him. A perversely beautiful monster with eyes that were completely, inhumanly white, and blood on his lips, in his smile. The same skin as the corpse on the bed - icy, waxy. Seungcheol can see him as clearly as if he’d woken up and walked into his bedchambers; Jeonghan hasn’t aged a day in almost twenty-five years. Of course he hasn’t.

And that dangerous, wicked look in his gaze is still the same.

As he abandons his prey, as he rounds the bed to meet them, his eyes flick back to something more… normal. Just as quickly as blowing out a candle. Big, brown irises that scream innocence, that shine just like a human’s would - and Seungcheol longs to cower behind his father but he grips Seungcheol tightly. Keeps him in place.

Right where the monster can get him.

He kneels before Seungcheol with blood on his mouth and clothes and the long, bony fingers that reach out for him; Seungcheol tries to struggle away but, again, is held still. “Is this him?” the monster asks in a voice that’s nothing like Seungcheol expected. It is low and it is soothing. Like the hymns he hears at church.

“Yes, master,” his father responds tightly. “You’re not… going to hurt him, are you?”

The monster laughs, another musical sound. Jarringly disparate from the blood shimmering on his fangs. And he looks at Seungcheol with those eyes, those wide, lovely eyes. Touches his cheek with icy fingers stained red.

It is a gaze he feels echoing in his heart, his soul, throughout time.

It is a touch that leaves his young mind fuddled, searching for fear and unease he cannot grasp anymore.

“Of course I’m not going to hurt him,” the monster murmurs, still looking at Seungcheol, and perhaps something in him actually believed it.

Still… still does.

It is then, always then, that he wakes up.

Drenched in cold sweat that dampens the sheets and the pillows the way the man’s blood had stained Jeonghan’s so many years ago. Heart racing like it had that day, furiously trying to keep him alive in the one place it could kill him. His head  _ aches, _ inside and out, registering nothing as he tries to catch his breath. He is in his mind when these memories revisist him, he is asleep, he is dreaming - but he never wakes up until the moment is over. As if his mind is hellbent on torturing him.

As if… as if he is being reminded of something he forgot.

As his heart slows back down, as his breathing returns to its normal pace, as his head clears, Seungcheol sits up fully. Runs a hand through his damp hair… and touches his own fingers to his cheek, the one Jeonghan touched in his memories. Just to  _ check. _ Of course there’s nothing, no blood, but it’d felt so real. Like it always does. Like Jeonghan’s fingers had been so cold that they burned, seared a mark into his skin. Heaving a sigh, Seungcheol slips out of bed and stumbles around in the dark until he reaches the curtains that guard the window in the room. He throws them open, giving way to another foggy, drizzly morning that settles on his lungs like a breath of smoke. Long ago he learned that the sun hardly shines here, that it is one of the many reasons why Yoon Jeonghan chose this place to terrorize… but sometimes he can’t help wishing he’d wake up to it. Just once. And maybe it would stick around all day, beat out the rain and the clouds with its light.

Seungcheol would be so lucky.

Biting back another sigh, he continues on with his routine and dresses. While he does, his mind wanders back - ever back - to the dream.

Why that moment? Why every night?

If he’s being honest, he doesn’t remember much about what happened afterwards. Just vague flashes - his father introducing him to Jeonghan, the man he, too, would serve when he came of age - and bits and pieces that seem hidden behind something he can’t reach. Something he can’t unlock. But whatever those memories are, evidently, they’re not important enough to recall. And as such, they are not important enough to dwell on. Not when Seungcheol has work that needs to be done.

Once he is clothed, hair brushed, and teeth cleaned, the nightmarish haze resting on his mind is all but gone. The memories weighing down his bones are all but cleared. And he’s grateful for it, for this momentary reprieve. He knows, from experience, that once he makes his way into Jeonghan’s chambers the feeling will return and it won’t go away until the next morning. Until this moment, tomorrow. A few breaths of respite after consecutive hours of worry, of unease, of discomfort.

This is his routine.

This is what his days are.

The thought of seeing Jeonghan sends a familiar shiver of panic down his spine, and he tries to breathe through it, the way his father taught him. Tries to steady his racing heart, lest Jeonghan hears it, senses it, on the other side of his mansion. Lest it fill his head with thoughts of hunger, a hunger that is never satiated, no matter how many poor lambs Seungcheol brings to his slaughter. He knows Jeonghan can hear his heart even when Seungcheol is resting, even from the widest of distances - it is, from what he understands, a constant hum in the back of his mind. The mark of Seungcheol’s service, of an arrangement spoken into existence long before he was even a thought; an arrangement sealed with blood and teeth.

Seungcheol is his, and because of it, Jeonghan knows his heart. Hears it beating, pumping life through his body, unceasingly. Day in and day out. Until it will inevitably stop.

He doesn’t know when that day will be, but if he remembers his father’s fate, he knows Jeonghan will have something to do with it.

Thinking about that does nothing to quell the panic beginning to seize his lungs but he pushes through it, moving around the mansion on legs that feel so weak, so uneasy. But they carry him nonetheless, muscles retrieving memories, familiar motions, of this same path he’s traced countless times. Through the dimly lit hallways, ignoring ghostly breezes and phantom gazes he’s been scared of since he was five years old.

The people that reside in the town, about a mile down the road, like to say that the mansion is haunted with the souls Jeonghan has taken for his own. And after several visits here growing up, after almost ten years living in one of the many empty rooms… Seungcheol can easily believe it. There’s an energy in this estate that doesn’t only belong to Jeonghan and his lifeless, preternatural state, but it is just as ravenous, just as desolate, just as evil. Every day he spends in this place, he feels it inside him. Swirling like a fog, black as night. The kind you cannot see through. The kind that seems as if it could swallow you up if you stepped toward it. It chokes his veins and slips through the rips on his mind, rattles around in the empty spots inside him until he cannot breathe. Until his thoughts are endless streams of incoherence and desperation that only one thing can calm.

The thing that brings him his greatest comfort is also the source of his worst fears.

When Seungcheol opens the heavy door separating Jeonghan from the rest of the mansion, he is greeted with silence. Bone-shuddering silence that makes his skin prickle as he crosses the threshold. Or is that the ice in the air? Or the corpse on the bed?

The man has only been dead for a few hours, or so Seungcheol can tell. He tries to move him, but his limbs are too stiff to obey. So he stays stuck in the position he died in: hands above his head, where Jeonghan must have pressed them into the pillows (there are finger-shaped bruises around his wrists), head tilted to the side, mouth open and face contorted in what might have been ecstasy or pain, Seungcheol’s not sure. He knows a vampire’s bite can bring great pleasure; the supernatural forces that sing through their bodies teasing the victim’s for just a moment, with the promise of eternal life. But to be fed on until death must hurt. Besides, there’s such a fine line between pleasure and pain, isn’t there? If Seungcheol’s learned anything in his life so far, it is that.

If Jeonghan has taught him anything, it is that.

The moment he thinks about him, the moment his name crosses his mind like a breath, warmth washes over Seungcheol. It sends shivers down his spine and he feels rooted in place and Jeonghan must be in here, watching, reading his mind, keeping to the shadows along the edge of the room. But Seungcheol wants him closer,  _ needs _ him, needs his touch and his mouth. Teeth sinking into his skin, taking that which belongs to him. Taking that which Seungcheol gives so willingly even when he does not want to.

“Seungcheol.”

His voice echoes through Seungcheol’s mind, through the longing and the fear. Gentle, musical… yet cold as ice.

“Yes, master?” he whispers into the bloodstained air, towards the shadow he cannot see.

“I seem to have made a mess last night.”

Seungcheol looks back at the bed, at the body before him, slick with a crimson liquid he knows well - but his mind won’t let him register it. Won’t let him accept what he knows to be reality.

Memories flash through his head.

A man in red. Kissed awake by a beautiful monster. The same beautiful monster that sits several feet from Seungcheol now, watching him with eyes he sees in his dreams.

“I will dispose of it, master,” he murmurs, and his body moves without prompting, without realization, to force the man from Jeonghan’s bed. The strain in his muscles is familiar.

And the praise that leaves Jeonghan’s lips is, too.

“Good,” he says, voice lilting. “And when you’re finished, return to me. For your reward.”

Seungcheol can’t help the involuntary shudder that tears through his body at Jeonghan’s words, and he knows what reward awaits him. Feels it on him like a phantom weight, the ghostly press of fangs against the pale scars on his neck. The life rushing out of him for a few agonisingly blissful moments, to feed the monster that would never hurt him. It makes his blood ache, crying out for who which owns him.

The reason he is alive is Jeonghan.

His singular purpose for existing is to serve his master. In whatever capacity he requires.

Jeonghan must notice his desperation - of course he does, he knows Seungcheol’s body well, knows what excites him and scares him and calms him (how could he not, when Jeonghan himself is all of those) - for he shushes him softly. Sends another wave of warmth through him. And Seungcheol welcomes it eagerly, though he craves so much more.

“Relax, my pet,” Jeonghan murmurs. “All in due time, hmm?”

“Yes, master,” he repeats, forcing the yearning from his mind because he has a job to do.

And he does it. Wraps the unmoving man in the sheets he soiled and carries him from the bedchambers. The body is heavy and rigid, like all the others, but Seungcheol stopped struggling to move them years ago. Perhaps his muscles simply grew used to it, day in and day out. He’s not really sure why, if he thinks about it… but it’s better to  _ not  _ think. To just accept it and move on because the  _ why _ is not important. He needs to focus on the  _ how, _ the action. Doing what Jeonghan desires of him.

When he steps outside, he’s battered with sea winds. They whip through his hair and his clothes, reaching for his skin, his bones, as stone walkways turn to dirt and sand. They whip through the bloodstained sheets that come free as Seungcheol unravels them from the body. They are all he hears as he lets go, a rough rushing in his ears as the corpse in his arms drops. Down, down, down the cliffside. Down, down, down into the waiting, crushing ocean below.

It will be his final resting place. Just as the ones before him, and the ones that will come after.

They, in some strange, morbid way, will outlive Seungcheol. Long after Jeonghan is through with him, long after he has drained the life from his body and discarded him as well, he will continue to feed. And feed. And feed. Seungcheol will be forgotten, yet the victims will remain. One after the other.

For as long as Jeonghan exists.

Seungcheol sinks to his knees, clutching the still-damp sheets in his hands, blood beginning to stick to his skin - and tears rise up his throat. Slowly, bitingly, achingly, they find his eyes and he squeezes them back… but he cannot repress the hopelessness welling inside him too.

Outside, out of the mansion and its suffocating spirits and morbid manipulations, free from Jeonghan’s control, reality comes screaming back to him. And he lets it out in a broken sob that is lost to the winds.

He burns the sheets afterwards. Watches the flames destroy the last remnants of Jeonghan’s latest victim, a man the town will forget within the decade. A man that, for all his failings and shortcomings, did not deserve to die this way.

Seungcheol had found him, drunk almost to the point of unconsciousness in some tavern, while he’d been searching for a sacrifice for the monster. All that passed his lips was slurred incoherence; hands with scarred knuckles continually reached for the girl serving him beer, and his unintelligible words turned harsh when she rebuked him. He was a waste of space, and Seungcheol knew no one would miss him. Especially not the wife and children he beat during the few hours he was home, not drowning his body in alcohol. So he’d offered to take him “back home” when he became too drunk to stand. Brought him to Jeonghan whose nose turned up at the stench of alcohol on his clothes. But he’d fed nonetheless. Killed the man like Seungcheol knew he would.

And now  _ Seungcheol _ is the one left with the mess, with the guilt, with blood on his hands.

When he’s finished he heads back inside on trembling legs again. They aren’t strong enough to hold him up anymore and he falls to his knees in Jeonghan’s bedchambers.

He breaks.

This - just like the rest of it, the searching, the nightmares, the disposing, the remorse, the hopelessness - is so achingly familiar and he sobs in front of Jeonghan. Cries in front of shadows that have long since lost their humanity, their sympathy and warmth. It is a weakness of his he knows Jeonghan abhors, a weakness he has yet to fully drive from him - but Seungcheol can’t help it. Can’t stop the tears coursing down his cheeks, can’t slake the emptiness inside him no matter how hard he tries.

Until he feels hands on his face, icy and insistent. Jeonghan touches him with forced tenderness, and it only makes it worse. As much as he adores his master, as much as he craves him and his touch… Jeonghan is not human. He is not a creature of comfort. He is a monster created to kill, to steal life and claim it for himself. That is his sole purpose in life - and, just like Seungcheol, he cannot give it up. Even if he wanted to.

“Do not cry, pet,” he murmurs, and there is an edge to his voice. As sharp as his long, thin nails, scratching warnings into his skin as they travel his jaw. Blood wells up beneath the freshly-raised skin, but doesn’t spill, and Seungcheol doesn’t open his eyes.

Even as Jeonghan’s bony fingers slip beneath his chin and tilt his head up.

“Look at me, Seungcheol,” he demands.

He shakes his head as best as he can in Jeonghan’s grip, tears still rolling down his cheeks, and he cannot stop it. Cannot give voice to the misery settling on his joints and muscles like a hand wrapped around his throat. It often comes and goes and soon it will indeed leave him but for now… “Please,” he whispers, a broken sound, “let me go.”

There is a moment where Seungcheol thinks Jeonghan might listen to him. Take pity on him. His fingers flex briefly beneath his chin, as if he’s pondering, thinking it over.

And then there are cold, familiar lips against Seungcheol’s, concurrent with yet another wave of warmth.

The sensations sing through his body at the same time, and he pulls Jeonghan close. Wraps his arms around him, around a body that feels so weak and cold - but he knows how strong it is. Knows Jeonghan could snap his neck like a twig with only a quick flick of his wrist, if he wanted to. It sends a shiver of fear down his spine as Jeonghan, perhaps reading his mind once more, seizes his throat with frozen fingers. Like in his dream, in his memories, their frigidness seems to burn him - and he opens his eyes, finally. Meets a dark, severe gaze he knows well, half-hidden by the lack of distance between them.

Jeonghan breaks their bitter kiss and tightens his grip on Seungcheol’s throat ever so slightly. It’s enough to seize his breath and it’s all he can do to look at Jeonghan now. Feeling his thumb stroke slow, insistent patterns against his pulse point. Imagining warm breath ghosting his face, breath that left Jeonghan’s lungs centuries ago.

“Why are you crying, darling?” he whispers, and the edges of his eyes are beginning to dissolve into white, into nothingness again. He wants to feed, even though he just drained an entire man - and Seungcheol will let him. It is instinct, it is his purpose. No matter how he might feel about it. “Don’t you want your reward?”

He does, he does, of course he does - doesn’t he? He blinks back more tears and swallows against the lump in his throat; it slides painfully against Jeonghan’s palm. “Master, I…”

“Shh,” Jeonghan murmurs as he releases his hold on Seungcheol’s throat. But only so he can dip down and trace the skin with soft lips. Erase the imprints of his agitation with gentleness that Seungcheol knows he doesn’t truly feel. Cannot feel, as much as he might want to. “Don’t speak, love.”

He does as commanded, and the more Jeonghan teases him, touches kisses as light as butterfly wings into his skin, the more he relaxes. The more he is malleable; like a doll for a child, to be at their complete mercy. To be played with and discarded when they are bored. But this is the way Jeonghan handles him. He pushes Seungcheol to the brink, even dangles him from it in his darkest moments, and then calms his stresses and fears with soft touches. Brings him back to himself, to the one who owns him, with unspoken promises such as this.

His reward.

Jeonghan’s teeth graze his skin, and a shiver tears down Seungcheol’s spine, threatening to take him apart.

Either that, or Jeonghan will.

There is momentary pain when Jeonghan bites down - sharp, bright, and searing, as his razor-like fangs sink down, down, down. Seungcheol shudders against it, sags forward and Jeonghan catches him with a hand cupping the back of his neck; with a moan muffled against Seungcheol’s skin. There is nothing in Seungcheol’s head, nothing else that he feels - just  _ Jeonghan Jeonghan Jeonghan. _ Jeonghan on his lap, cold fingers carving winter against his skin, teeth sinking into him.

This will be the death of him, he knows; this longing, this aching. The way he needs this, even if he doesn’t  _ want _ to need it.

“Master,” he tries again, voice thick, head lolling back, even with Jeonghan’s fingers supporting it. “Please, I - “

In the same moment the pain is gone, replaced by whatever euphoric poison Jeonghan has to give. It won’t be enough to turn him but it’s enough to steal his breath away, to send spasms through his body and leave him trembling. Desire knots hot inside him and he presses Jeonghan closer, ever closer. Gasps at the unmistakable hardness of his growing erection against his own, heat muted by their clothes. Is it like this when he feeds on every poor soul he’s ever had, Seungcheol wonders, or just  _ him? _ Does Jeonghan crave feeding on him because he needs it, or because he simply wants it?

He could ask these questions, but a part of him isn’t sure he actually wants to hear the answers.

When Jeonghan’s teeth slide out, blood wells immediately in their place, warm and wet against Seungcheol’s skin - and Jeonghan laps it up with his tongue. Presses his mouth around the wound he’s made, and sucks.

Long ago, perhaps after the sixth or seventh time he fed from him like this, Jeonghan told him that the taste of Seungcheol’s skin and his blood were unlike anything else he’d experienced in his centuries’ long existence. He’d had countless lovers in that time but none quite as fascinating, as voltaic as Seungcheol. That his blood calls to him, every second of every day - much like the way he hears his heart in the back of his mind. That a simple drop of it renders him somehow sated  _ and _ ravenous.

That he loves seeing the scars he leaves on Seungcheol’s body.

He feeds from him quietly, gentle moans mixing deliciously with soft squelching sounds - and Seungcheol thinks he could come like this. He has before, pinned between Jeonghan and the bed, the weight of him, the rolling of his hips, the heat of him around Seungcheol’s cock -

“You’re so hard,” Jeonghan whispers; it’s a rather broken noise, and Seungcheol wishes he could see inside his head the way Jeonghan can his. Wishes he knew what he was feeling, if it’s anything like the ecstasy, the adoration pounding through Seungcheol’s own body right now. Any troubling feelings Seungcheol had ten minutes ago are gone now, replaced with that heady concoction he only finds in Jeonghan’s arms. “What makes you think I’ll let you fuck me, pet?”

“Please,” he whines, gripping Jeonghan’s thin body, searching for bare skin beneath the silky robe he wears. “Please, I-I need it - “

“Oh, you ‘need’ it?” He sits back on his haunches and exhaustion settles within Seungcheol. It’s worse than usual, which means Jeonghan drank more than he should have, but Seungcheol doesn’t mind. Nor does he mind the blood staining Jeonghan’s sweet lips, the trail of it spilling down his chin.

It’s one thing when he’s covered in someone else’s blood, but when it’s Seungcheol’s…

“Yes, master,” he breathes, reaching shaking fingers towards the blood on his chin. He swipes it away, warm and slick against his skin, and offers his thumb to Jeonghan’s lips; each lick of his tongue falls like sparks down Seungcheol’s veins. Now  _ he _ is the ravenous one, except the difference is he doesn’t have the power to steal or demand the way Jeonghan does. He is at his master’s terrible mercy.

And right now, said mercy is nowhere to be found on his statuesque face, nor in his eyes, slowly returning to their natural state. Nor is it in the blood still on his lips, blood he licks away without turning his gaze from Seungcheol’s.

He shivers, only wanting him more.

“Only whores beg for sex like that, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan bites out. “Is that what you are? A whore?”

“No,” he murmurs in response - and, just like that, the high from Jeonghan’s bite is gone. Replaced by the heavy slide of rejection moving down his throat. How quickly things can change; how tumultuous and demanding his master is. “I’m sorry, master, I didn’t mean to offend you - “

Jeonghan lets out a sharp bark of a laugh, as condescending as the smirk on his crimson-shadowed lips, and pushes him down onto the floor. As he straddles Seungcheol’s hips, desire shivers through his body. Desire to be controlled, forced to submit. To be demeaned and used, as a vessel for his master’s sick desires.

Only Jeonghan makes him feel this way, and a bright spot in his brain - his singular refuge, the last part of him yet to be corrupted fully - wonders how much of it is Jeonghan and his power. Making him so willing to comply with  _ everything _ Jeonghan asks of him. Would he not do whatever he could to keep Seungcheol under his thumb, to ensure his constant loyalty? Or… Or is it simply easier to blame it on him, when the true source of Seungcheol’s devotion comes from within, from himself - and he cannot stand knowing such truths? Not when it is slowly destroying him.

“What does it matter?” Jeonghan says, reaching into his thoughts as if they are his own and taking hold. Winding cold fingers around them the way he’d wrapped them around his throat. Redirecting Seungcheol’s focus to the icy hands undressing him and the promises burning through their touch. Seungcheol feels it in his bones, in his blood and it’s so damn hard to  _ think. _ “Is being mine truly such a terrible thing?”

Seungcheol shakes his head immediately; anything to keep Jeonghan’s touch, anything to sate the ache that begins to gnaw at his soul. He  _ needs _ this, needs Jeonghan. “N-No,” he stammers, body arching beneath the cold fingers on his bare skin and the prickling they leave in their wake. Down, down, down his chest. Down, down, down to his pants. “I-I…”

He tries to return to his trail of thought, but instead finds it blocked. Overgrown with trees and shrubbery he did not put there. But it’s not important, not when Jeonghan’s tugging his pants and underwear down, moaning as he kisses his stomach, his thighs. “Shall I take my time with you, darling?” he whispers into Seungcheol’s skin, lips skimming the inside of his thigh. “Or should I fuck you like the whore you’re proving to be today?”

There are plenty of little white scars littering Seungcheol’s skin between his legs and he shivers at the sensation of Jeonghan’s lips against them. And thinking, picturing, imagining him biting another, drawing more blood from his shivery veins is all Seungcheol is fixated on. Jeonghan’s words, his honey-rough tone, falls on deaf ears.

Then a sharp pain laces through his senses and he opens his eyes to find Jeonghan staring up at him with a hard gaze, droplets of blood dripping from his long fingernail; a small scratch embedded in his thigh burns like embers.

“M-Master?” he tries in a weak, trembling voice, trying to find where he went wrong, why is Jeonghan hurting him -

“I asked you a question, Seungcheol,” he snaps. “Focus, or I’ll have to punish you - “

Memories spring to mind, somehow distinct and hazy at the same time - prolonged darkness. Isolation, away from Jeonghan. A heavy, boundless,  _ sinking _ feeling; that he had failed in his existence. That he had failed his master. Pounding on the door until his hands were bloodied, splintered. Crying out for Jeonghan until his voice was hoarse and broken. He can count the number of times he’s been punished on one hand and to add another to that tally is almost too much for him to bear. “No!” he cries before Jeonghan can even finish speaking. “I’ll - I’ll behave, I swear, master.”

“I should hope so,” Jeonghan whispers, and he turns hungry eyes to the scratch he made. Licks at the blood that wells with a single, wet swipe of his tongue. “For your sake.”

Seungcheol whines in need, high and cracked, past the point of coherence now; the aching in his soul has climbed up his throat and he can’t take much more of this.

“You know I hate punishing you, darling,” Jeonghan continues, and his voice is thick with desire now. Thick with blood. “Locking you up in that room hurt me as much as it did you. Listening to you crying out for me… mm, I don’t want to do it again, but I will if I have to. If you force my hand.”

“No,” he says again, arching up, chasing Jeonghan’s mouth, his touch, as if it brings him life. “I won’t - I’ll be good.”

“Then answer my question, pet,” he murmurs. “How do you want it? Or do you want me to choose for you?”

“Y-You choose, master,” he breathes, hands itching to reach out, but he knows his place. Knows he is not allowed to touch. Even if Jeonghan’s hair, coming loose from its braid, begins to brush against his skin, enticing him. “I trust you.”

Jeonghan laughs softly, darkly - and then he pulls away from Seungcheol completely.

It is worse than any punishment he could give.

But Seungcheol does not whine for him to return to him; nor does he beg. He simply lays on the floor and watches Jeonghan disappear from his sight. He is blocked by the bed and Seungcheol can hear him rummaging around. The familiar clinking of the jar that holds the oils. The rustling of clothes as he no doubt disrobes. And when he comes back to him, he is indeed naked. His cock, somehow just as elegant as the rest of him, is as hard as Seungcheol’s - and he longs to touch. Longs to worship the way Jeonghan so deserves. The way he is never given.

The townspeople a mile down the road do not revere him; they fear him. His victims do not revere him; they fear him. But Seungcheol reveres him. Sometimes it is stronger than the fear he feels, too; sometimes it is an extension of it. And he wants to show it.

“Stand up and get on the bed,” Jeonghan commands. “Hands and knees, facing me.”

Seungcheol can’t seem to move fast enough; he scrambles off of the floor and onto the mattress. Positions his body the way Jeonghan wants it and looks up at him with want coiling hot and hard in his belly. Jeonghan’s cock is a few inches from his face, and a drop of precum dribbles from the tip. Seungcheol wants it on his tongue.

“Look at you,” Jeonghan whispers, threading icy fingers into his hair, bringing him oh so close - but not close enough. Before he can taste, before he can take Jeonghan’s cock between his lips, Jeonghan stills his head. Keeps him where he wants him. “So greedy, darling. So eager for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathes in lieu of a nod, with Jeonghan gripping his hair so tightly that his scalp prickles and aches. “I want you.”

Seungcheol’s singular purpose for existing is to serve his master - and this, he decided long ago, is the best form of such service. Pleasing Jeonghan, allowing him to use his body, his mouth, his cock however he sees fit. Some days this is all they do; Jeonghan never tires, never needs rest or food, and he’ll fuck Seungcheol until he can’t take any more. Much like his victims, he’ll steal and steal and steal from Seungcheol, assuaging his own hunger and his own desires until he is sated - no matter how many times Seungcheol begs him to stop.

They both know he never really means it.

Not when he has the taste of Jeonghan’s kisses seared into his mouth or the hot, tight feel of him around his cock.

Other days, Jeonghan doesn’t touch him. He might make use of the prior night’s victim if he’s desperate enough, sometimes kept with enough life in his heart to satisfy every ounce of Jeonghan’s cravings. Or he stays alone. Rewards Seungcheol with another scar bitten into his throat once he disposes of the body - and then ignores him for as long as he wants.

Until Seungcheol comes to him with tears in his eyes and repentance on his lips for sins he never committed.

Now, Jeonghan relaxes his grip just enough and brings Seungcheol forward. Looks at him with fire blazing in his eyes, fire that Seungcheol will die in someday, he’s sure of it. “Open your mouth, pet.”

He does - and he’s rewarded with the perfect weight of Jeonghan’s cock on his tongue, between his lips. It drags a moan from his throat and he sucks at the head, tongues those spots that make Jeonghan sigh. But he is impatient above Seungcheol, nails scratching along his scalp, eyes still so hard - so Seungcheol loosens up, lets his jaw fall slack as he takes more of him. Always, always more. The tip of Jeonghan’s cock slides down his throat and he gags, tears springing to his eyes… but that’s not enough for Jeonghan. Not until soft, blond curls tickle Seungcheol’s nostrils, not until he can’t breathe -

And then Jeonghan moves. He thrusts his hips quickly, fucking Seungcheol’s throat with less gentleness than he’d fed from him with. In return, all Seungcheol can do is relax. Let Jeonghan abuse him the way he’s so good at. The way Seungcheol craves even when he doesn’t want it.

To pretend it doesn’t turn him on would be a lie; of course he likes this. Jeonghan wouldn’t do it if he didn’t, and that’s, perhaps, the worst part of it. He uses this as a way to put Seungcheol down, to remind him who he serves and what his place is - but Seungcheol  _ enjoys _ it. Enjoys being hurt like this.

Which makes him as sick as Jeonghan is.

Jeonghan uses him until he comes, keeping Seungcheol on his cock until he swallows every last drop, until his lungs burn with the need for breath, and then he pulls back. Looks at Seungcheol with the closest thing he can feel to affection, and it swirls inside Seungcheol, joining the desire that is never satisfied from simply opening up his throat like that. No, he needs more. Needs to be inside Jeonghan, needs to feel him above him. But that comes at Jeonghan’s own pace.

He finds the silk bindings he usually uses on Seungcheol and ties his wrists to each side of the bed frame as he lays down on the mattress; tight enough to squeeze his bones, arms spread wide enough to make his muscles ache in protest.

But that’s hardly the worst part; Jeonghan restricting his hands means Seungcheol won’t get to prep him himself.

Sure enough, Jeonghan has the jar in hand when he comes back, straddling Seungcheol’s hips. He dips two fingers into it and coats them in the oils. Slick and wet…

“Master, please,” Seungcheol whispers, and it almost dies in his throat when Jeonghan looks at him. Once more, the edges of his beautiful eyes are dissipating into white, and at the very least maybe he’ll feed on him again. It’s a small comfort, and not exactly what Seungcheol craves. “I want - want to touch you.”

“No,” he says and he closes the jar, sets it down. Reaches behind himself and spreads his legs a bit wider. “You don’t deserve it.”

He wants to whine, wants to complain and beg - but he knows what that will get him. So he keeps his mouth shut and watches.

Jeonghan is, by far, the most beautiful creature Seungcheol has ever seen - and his beauty is only exacerbated in the throes of passion. The moment he presses his fingers against his entrance, a breathless noise passes his lips and Seungcheol revels in it. The moment he slides the digits inside fully, his mouth falls open. And the moment he finds that spot inside him, he tilts his head back and moans. By now, his hair is knotted and falling out of its braid, the ends matted crimson - and with the soft, overcast light spilling over his exquisite body, he looks more angelic than demonic. Like he is Seungcheol’s salvation, and not his inevitable destruction.

He takes his time, eventually sliding three fingers inside himself, and Seungcheol is enraptured. Cannot look away. Not when Jeonghan’s rocking his hips the way he is, soft moans spilling past his perfect lips still stained with blood, not when some of the oil coating his fingers drips onto Seungcheol’s thigh.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, watching Jeonghan finger himself into full hardness again. “I… I love you.”

He says it sometimes, often enough that it doesn’t feel foreign on his tongue, but it still sits strange on his heart. Like a lie he means, or perhaps a truth he doesn’t understand.

“I know you do; you’re such a good boy for me, darling. All mine, aren’t you?” Jeonghan slips his fingers out on a small whine and wipes them off on Seungcheol’s stomach. The oil is warm and sticky - but Seungcheol doesn’t care.

Because he knows what comes next.

Jeonghan finally,  _ finally _ touches him as he lowers himself onto his cock, taking all of him in one quick movement.

Seungcheol moans as he’s surrounded by heat, tight and slick, as his thoughts are held hostage by Jeonghan once more. Straining against his bindings, he wants so badly to touch, to hold Jeonghan still and give him pleasure. Roll his hips and press deep inside him. But he’s not allowed, of course he’s not.

“Mm,” Jeonghan sighs when he’s settled, every inch of Seungcheol’s cock inside him - and he looks at him with a wicked smirk that Seungcheol feels slicing his heart.

They don’t speak much as Jeonghan fucks himself on Seungcheol’s cock, as he rolls his hips and sets an intense pace from the start. Though the occasional derogatory remark falls from Jeonghan’s lips - once again, he calls Seungcheol a whore as he chases his own desires on top of him, mocks how eager he is to be fucked, how quickly he falls apart. And Seungcheol welcomes it. He stopped fighting the way such words fill him with lust long ago; when he was younger it used to break his heart. Used to make his face hot and pink, and his mind clouded with bitterness. How could he enjoy being degraded like this?

Jeonghan is  _ right, _ though. He  _ is _ eager for it.

Perhaps because this is the only time he feels alive anymore.

As they both grow closer to their orgasms, Jeonghan lowers himself on top of Seungcheol. Fills his soul with a tender weight he doesn’t want to feel as he buries his face in Seungcheol’s neck. It blends with the desire coiling inside him, pulsing as it aches to snap, and he can’t hold on anymore.

“J-Jeonghan…”

He snarls in return, hips beginning to stutter, and pushes Seungcheol deeper into the mattress with a heavy hand on his throat. It stops his breath, quickens his pulse, and adds to the heat pooling inside him - a punishment for his fondness, for uttering a name he’s not allowed to use… Lips on his chest, teeth poised above his heart, like he plans to consume it -

The moment Jeonghan bites down, flooding his already overwhelmed senses with so much warmth, so much bliss, Seungcheol comes. Spills inside him with a broken, throaty cry, arches towards that which brings him this pleasure, arches towards the sinfully ethereal creature feeding off him. Said creature, insatiable in everything he does, swipes his tongue over the fresh bite - and a moan crosses his bloodstained lips as he orgasms too, hot and sticky between them.

They stay like that for a few dizzying moments: Jeonghan collapses on him fully and turns back to the new wound he has given, sucking lazily as his fingers stroke over Seungcheol’s skin. The feedings and his orgasm leave Seungcheol thoroughly, utterly exhausted, and the last thing he remembers before falling asleep is Jeonghan murmuring, “I love you”.

When Seungcheol comes to, he is absolutely unsure of how much time has passed - all he knows is that Jeonghan is nowhere to be found. Not in his bedchambers, at least. Though the door off the side of the room, the one that leads to the washroom, is wide open. Heaving a sigh that’s meant to declutter his muddled mind (it doesn’t work), Seungcheol forces himself from the bed. Takes stumbling steps on heavy, weary limbs and tries to ignore the soft throbbing pains in his neck and chest. Like all the others, he won’t apply any salves or force them to heal any faster; he’ll leave them on their own and watch as red bite marks turn to bruised scabs and then pale scars.

The pain, he decides, is good. Another reminder of his service, as if he could forget.

Sure enough, Jeonghan is in the washroom, sitting still in the basin in the center of the room. Unmoving. Seungcheol doesn’t know how long he’s been in here but the candles lit are breathing their last breaths and when Seungcheol slips a hand into the water, it splashes ice cold against his skin.

Of all the humanities Jeonghan traded for his eternal life and youth, this is one of the few that quite… bothers Seungcheol. The fact that he can’t feel heat or coldness. That he can sit in a chilly bath for hours on end and not be irritated - or frozen to death. But if Jeonghan minds, he has never uttered it. Though, Seungcheol can’t help but wonder if he even remembers what it is like to feel temperatures. To sit before a fire in the winter, to the point of sweating. To drink a glass of cold water, notice the way it seems to spread through the body.

Does he remember  _ anything _ about being human, or does that melt away with the rest of the years?

“Of course I do,” he murmurs, and Seungcheol looks at him, finds his eyes focused on nothing. But they are sharp and distinct; he does not want to feed. “I remember…”

He trails off as Seungcheol moves away for a few moments, to light some more candles and grab a clean, dry cloth, as well as a bar of soap. When he returns, Jeonghan is still in the same position he was in: staring blankly at nothing, shoulders tensed and squared. There’s a haggardness, a gauntness, a paleness that isn’t always there; the candlelight creates shadows across his thin, angular face, and he looks… dead. It tugs at Seungcheol’s heart and he reaches back into the water with the bar of soap to wet it. To distract himself.

“What do you remember, master?” he prompts softly.

Jeonghan sighs and allows his arm to be lifted so Seungcheol can rub the soap along it. He doesn’t speak while Seungcheol does this, and, really, he’s not surprised. Jeonghan doesn’t talk about his past often, especially not… smaller things like this. But if there is a time and a place, it is now, here. For these moments always seem intimate, even human. Sitting in the bath, letting Seungcheol wash his hair and body, he is vulnerable. He is no monster, no killer; all of that is rinsed away like the blood from his skin, turning pinkish in the water.

“I remember that I loved winter,” he whispers finally, as Seungcheol cleans his torso, wipes away the dried come from his stomach - and affection settles like a lump in his throat at Jeonghan’s confession.

But he doesn’t speak, in case it would push Jeonghan back inside himself; he merely continues bathing him, ignoring the desire to kiss him.

“I loved playing in the snow until - until I was too cold, and then being wrapped in piles of blankets. Sitting before a fire…”

There’s a wistfulness to his voice Seungcheol has never heard before and it surprises him enough that he stops and listens. Watches the emotions play out on Jeonghan’s face. His generally cold demeanor is broken by the warmth of memories, the desperation of what has been lost and can never come back - and then he turns towards Seungcheol. Reaches a ghostly hand out, touches his cheek with frozen fingers.

“You love me, don’t you Seungcheol?” he whispers, eyes sharpening once again. But the desolation that touched them moments ago remains still, like an open wound. “You would do anything for me.”

“You know I would, master.” He leans forward until their foreheads touch, until all he breathes and feels is Jeonghan. They are separated by so much, most of it insurmountable, but Seungcheol can’t think about that now. Not with Jeonghan stroking his cheek like he adores him, too. Not with the way his hand feels beneath Seungcheol’s as he slots their fingers together, soft and cold and small. Almost fragile. “And I love you. I swear I do.”

Jeonghan smiles, eyes fluttering shut; it makes Seungcheol’s stomach churn. “Good.”

They stay like this for as long as Seungcheol can; until his muscles ache from being in the same position for too long, and then he pulls away to wash Jeonghan’s hair. To comb his fingers between the long, silky strands. To clean the matted blood sticking to the ends. And then he helps Jeonghan from the basin, helps him dry off. His movements - just like when he discarded of Jeonghan’s…  _ mess _ \- are borne from memory rather than conscious focus. Even when he brushes out Jeonghan’s hair, sitting behind him on the floor of his bedchamber; he is slow and gentle, meticulously combing out tangles and imperfections. And then he braids it. Pulls Jeonghan back against him afterwards and buries his face in his neck.

It is moments like these that make Seungcheol fall in love, that make him think Jeonghan can be redeemed, that he isn’t the monster he makes himself out to be.

Of course, it is  _ also _ moments like these where Seungcheol is the most naïve he will ever be. How foolish he is to think that Jeonghan could be anything but a monster. Vampires are murderers, their sole purpose in life to hunt and feed. Their humanity is stripped away the longer they live, until it is as decayed as the organs atrophied inside them. Jeonghan doesn’t truly love him, as much as he might want to, and Seungcheol knows this. Of course he knows it. But… but he fits so perfectly in Seungcheol’s arms. Like he was made for him and no one else.

Like his purpose for existing is more than simply draining people of their blood.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Seungcheol kisses Jeonghan’s bare shoulder and holds him tighter.

Hours ago he was sobbing on his knees before Jeonghan, crying for the humanity he’d lost, the - the  _ thing _ he is now. The deeds he forces Seungcheol to do.

And now? Now Seungcheol doesn’t want to let him go. He is loyal, no matter what.

Even if he doesn’t want to be.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a lengthy oneshot but i have changed my mind because the more i was writing, the more intrigued i became with it - so it will be a slow to update shortfic.
> 
> thank you so much for reading and, please, let me know what you thought! your comments always make my day! <3
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scoups__ahoy) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/scoups__ahoy)!


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